Chapter 3: The Lily's Poison

Élianor

I run, blinded by tears. The laughter from the cafeteria chases me, mingling with the frantic beating of my heart and the sound of my heavy footsteps on the sidewalk. I don't know where I'm going. Away. Just away from those grinning faces, that institutionalized cruelty. I finally duck into the small public park on the edge of town, a deserted place at this hour when classes are in session. I huddle on a bench in the back, hidden by a laurel bush. My body is shaken by silent sobs, hiccups that tear at my chest. Shame is an acid corroding everything inside.

"Élianor?"

The voice is soft, masculine. I lift my head, frightened, expecting fresh mockery. But it's not a tormentor. It's Raphaël.

Raphaël de Saint-Clair. The boy whose mere passing in a hallway makes every heart flutter, including mine, in secret, with the painful certainty of its impossibility. He's there, standing, his chestnut hair tousled by the wind, his disturbingly green eyes fixed on me with a concern that seems sincere. He's even more beautiful up close, with a beauty that hurts.

"I... I saw you leave. What they did... it was monstrous."

His voice is velvet, a caress on my raw wounds. He sits down next to me, without touching me, respecting the aura of distress that surrounds me. His discreet, woody scent reaches me.

"I don't know what to say," he murmurs, shaking his head. "Liora and the others... they cross the line. You don't deserve that."

No one had ever told me that. No one. Tears flow again, but this time it's different. It's a mix of pain and a crazy, naive hope that dares to poke its nose out.

"Why... why are you here?" I stammer, my voice hoarse.

"Because it's unfair," he replies simply. "Because I can't stand cowardice."

He hands me a white, immaculate tissue. A gesture of infinite delicacy in my world of brutality. I take it with a trembling hand, wipe my wet cheeks.

"They're all idiots, Élianor. They don't see."

"They don't see what?" I say with a bitter laugh. "They see perfectly well."

He turns to me, his gaze intense, piercing.

"They don't see that you have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. A silvery gray, like a winter sky. They're full of things, you know. Sadness, yes, but also strength. A strength just waiting to blossom."

His words pierce through me. It's the most beautiful compliment I've ever received. The only one. A breath of fresh air in my prison. I look at him, unable to look away, hypnotized. Is this a dream? A trap? But his gaze is so honest, so gentle.

"Shouldn't you be with them? With the popular kids?"

"The 'popular' ones?" he says with a little disdainful pout. "They bore me. Their world is small, narrow. You... I sense that your world, inside, is immense."

He places his hand on mine, on the bench. His skin is warm. The warmth spreads up my arm, floods my frozen chest. It's the first time a boy, a human being, has touched me with such tenderness in years. I melt. All the mistrust, all the shell of shame cracks under the sun of his attention.

"You are so much more than what they say, Élianor. So much more than this body you hate. There is a queen inside you. Just waiting for permission to reign."

He speaks, and his words are a balm, an enchantment. He sees me. Him, Raphaël, the prince of this school, he sees me. And he doesn't see a monster. He sees a queen.

We stay there a long time, sometimes silent, sometimes talking. He tells me about painting, about books no one else reads, about his desire to leave this stifling town. He asks my opinion. He listens to my answer. It's intoxicating. It's dangerous.

When the bell rings in the distance, signaling the end of classes, he gets up reluctantly.

"We have to go. But... I want to see you again. Alone. Tonight. At the old mill by the river. Will you come?"

His gaze is a promise. A prayer.

My frantic heart screams "yes." My instinct, barely audible, whispers "be careful." But how can you resist a lighthouse when you've sailed through darkness all your life?

"I... I'll try," I whisper.

He smiles, a smile that could melt the poles.

"Perfect. See you tonight, then."

He walks away, and I stay on the bench, the crumpled tissue in my hand, his scent in the air, his words echoing in my head. "A queen inside you." The shame from before is still there, but it's covered with a golden layer, shiny and deceptive. Raphaël. He chose me. Against everyone.

I stand up, legs wobbling, but for the first time today, I lift my head. Hope is a bittersweet poison. And I am ready to get drunk, not knowing that tomorrow, the hangover will be of an unbelievable violence. The fall was only the prelude. The real betrayal, the most heartbreaking, has just begun.